


On Your Knees

by ifinkufreaky



Series: Ivar and the Maidens [2]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Afterparty, Erectile Dysfunction, F/M, Lust, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, Reader-Insert, Vaginal Sex, hookup, not shamed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:45:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9375029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/ifinkufreaky
Summary: You are a shieldmaiden newly arrived at Kattegat to join the Great Army, and you have caught the eye of Ivar the Boneless. Set during/after episode 4x17





	

**Author's Note:**

> As always for my smuts, the setting is an AU where the time jump in mid-season 4 lasted long enough to make Ivar older than the age of consent in your country ;)
> 
> I made this part of a series but the stories do NOT have anything to do with each other. Each one exists on its own timeline, with a different maiden, I just wanted to group all my Ivar POVs together so you could find them all.

“I have seen you looking at me.” You are the only two left in the hall that are still upright. Prince Ivar sits back in his chair like it’s a throne.  He lifts one finger, beckons you closer with a hint of a sneer twisting the corner of his mouth.

There has been a feast every night since you and your fellow shieldmaidens arrived at Kattegat, more new arrivals being welcomed to join the Great Army every day. Ivar had made an impression on your very first evening, stalking through the hall to threaten the sitting Queen herself, snarling and refusing to withdraw his vengeful intent when the eldest Ragnarsson broke up the conflict. He left that night in a rage, but he and the other younger brothers had been making it a point be in the great hall every evening since then, representing his own faction, pulling the loyalties of the arriving warriors to themselves and away from Lagertha.

What Ivar said was true. You had been looking at him. You loved the simmering passion lurking under those dark brows, enjoyed the clever ways he ridiculed his brothers. You were too quiet to join in their conversations, too shy to approach Ivar yourself, but you always found yourself somewhere near him, night after night. Tonight all your countrymen have retired to bed or passed out on their benches; it seems only you and Ivar know how to pace yourselves with the ale.

“Come over here, shy one,” Ivar calls. From what you’ve seen, he is the only Ragnarsson deserving to inherit the throne, and he is holding himself like he knows it, with the calm arrogance of power.

You toss a few stray braids over your shoulder and stand, stepping hesitantly up to the royal table as Ivar pushes his seat out to face you. “Here, sit in my lap.”

A thrill runs through your body; this was just what you had been imagining on those cold nights in your tent this week, but you are also a little surprised at his directness. Ivar is looking up at you with a smile that he probably intends to be reassuring, but it reminds you mostly of a cat about to make its kill. His eyes sweep over your body as you approach, admiring the way your soft leather pants fit snugly over your curves. His warm hands slide along your waist as you sit down sideways across his lap.

You’re surprised to find that your eyes are only a little higher than his when you settle in; Ivar is taller than he looks and you fit quite nicely on his lap. “You are very beautiful,” he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “What is your name?” His other hand is stroking your lower back, straying over your hip a bit more boldly with every pass.

“Y/n,” you reply, “a shieldmaiden of [some distant Earl].”

“And is this your first time at Kattegat, y/n?” Ivar asks, though he doesn’t sound like he cares very much about your answer. His fingertips are sliding over your cheek, gently drawing your face closer to his.

“Yes,” you answer, almost babbling as you watch him staring at your lips, “I was too young to join the last raid on Paris, and I am very excited to achieve glory in England, and to help you bring destruction down on the arrogant Christians and all the enemies of your great father.”

Ivar smiled. “I like the way that you think.” He tilted his head to the side. “Would you like to kiss me, y/n?”

You exhale a breath you didn’t know that you were holding. You nod self-consciously and then his fingers are coaxing you down. His mouth is slightly parted as you press your lips against his and kiss him timidly. Ivar’s lips dance gently with yours for a few moments as his hand slides to the back of your neck.

“So sweet,” he says, pulling back a little with an edge of mockery in his face. “I thought shieldmaidens were supposed to be ferocious.”

Your face colors but the heat in his eyes is stoking a fire inside your belly, too. “Is that the way you like your women?” you ask.

“I like my women many ways,” Ivar responds cheekily, “but if you are not a slave I would prefer that you not act like one.”

Your eyes flash and you decide to prove your prowess to the prince, attacking his lips with renewed force. Ivar responds eagerly, twining his fingers through the hair at the back of your head, pulling your chest into his and opening his mouth to you. His tongue pushes into your mouth boldly, and the muscles in his chest ripple under your hands.

Ivar is touching you everywhere, running his hands over your ass, sneaking his fingers under your shirt. His rough palm slides up the skin of your side, pausing just before he reaches the swell of your breast. Ivar pulls your face away from his, then watches your eyes lose focus as he claims your breast in his grip, thumb sliding over your nipple. You close your eyes and moan as he plays with you, opening again to see him watching your pleasure with a self-satisfied smile. “You are going to be a lot of fun, y/n,” he says, then pulls you back in for another kiss.

You hold both hands around his beautiful jaw as you suck at Ivar’s lips, thanking whatever god made you so lucky right now. The prince’s hands slide down your body and deftly loosen the laces of your pants. You stand just long enough to shift your legs and straddle him, never breaking the kiss. Ivar thrusts his right hand carefully down the front of your doeskin breeches; you gasp as his fingers slide in between your folds.

“Already so wet for me,” the prince murmurs in your ear as he strokes you. All you can do is mouth at his neck and pant into his skin as Ivar explores all your secrets with his clever hand. When you almost feel that you can’t take it anymore, he guides your palm to his crotch. “Now it is time to show me what you can do, you sexy little thing.”

You explore him through his pants obediently as Ivar works to unlace himself. He is only partially hard. A flash of doubt runs through you, are you not pleasing enough to him? But then you remember the strange insult his brother Sigurd had lobbed at him earlier; perhaps it was true that Ivar had trouble performing sexually. Your self-doubt turned quickly into compassion.

Ivar runs his finger in one last swirl against that pleasurable little nub above your opening before withdrawing his hand from your pants and bringing it to your cheek. When you look up at him he is sneering but now you see the uncertainty he is trying to hide behind that sexy scowl.

“Let me take care of you, my prince,” you say with a smile of your own, squeezing your hand around the hardening girth still trapped in his pants. You get your reward when the smirk falls right off Ivar’s face, his eyes going distant and internal. Reassured that he does in fact feel pleasure, you settle down on your knees and start untying the straps that hold Ivar’s shins together. This will be much more comfortable for both of you if you can separate his legs a bit wider.

When you finish, Ivar pulls his legs apart and you run your hands up his thighs, sliding your body close to him. You slide your palm over him again, the thin fabric of his pants still encasing his cock. When you look up Ivar is staring down at you and his arrogance has turned to awe. You start to wonder if he’s not as experienced as he has been pretending to be. Or maybe he has only been with slaves, and it is your eagerness that is surprising him. You run your cheek over his bulge, just to watch his eyes pop a little.

“Stop teasing me and get on with it, woman!” Ivar growls, but he is smiling again now, his fingers running through your hair.

You reach one hand through the open lacing of his breeches and wrap your fingers around his cock, drawing him out. Ivar sighs as you slide your hand in a loose grip up and down his shaft. He is still mostly soft, but the skin is velvety smooth and you find you are quite enjoying rolling him around in your hands. Especially because Ivar has started moaning softly, whispering soft curses interspersed with your name.

As he slowly begins to firm, you decide to do something you have never tried but have heard the other shieldmaidens giggle about. Sweeping your hair and braids over one shoulder, you bend your head and kiss the tip of his cock. Ivar’s fingers clutch at your shoulder and you figure he thinks it’s a good idea too. You lick your lips, then slowly draw Ivar’s cock into your mouth. He seems to be getting denser already, and when you suck down on him he moans so loud you’re worried he’s going to wake up one of the drunks passed out behind you.

“Gods, y/n,” Ivar says, his voice low and rough. “What are you doing to me?”

You pull him from your lips and look up with a cheeky smile. “Do you want me to stop?”

Ivar just grins at you darkly and pushes your face back toward his cock. He is firm enough to stand up on his own now. He seems to notice that at the same time that you do. “Give it a few more sucks and then I want you to come up here and ride me.”

Something clenches low in your belly and you suck him hard and fast, eager to comply. You struggle out of your boots and pants as you work Ivar’s cock, not willing to pause one activity to focus on the other. You spare one last thought to wondering whether anyone else is awake in the hall, about to see your bare ass, but you decide you don’t care one bit anymore. Ivar is looking like a god up there and really there’s no shame for a shieldmaiden to fuck a Ragnarsson when she has the chance.

When you are finally free of your clothing, you keep one hand wrapped loosely around Ivar’s currently rock-hard erection as you swing your legs over to straddle him in his chair again. Some of that swagger is back in his eyes as he looks up at you and slides both palms over your ass. “Are you ready for me, y/n?” he whispers fiercely.

As soon as you begin to nod he is gripping your hips and dragging you toward him. The strength in his arms is almost frightening. Your hands jump quickly to line him up properly and then you find yourself pushing back, fighting his enthusiasm, trying to slow down the slide as his thickness stretches your opening.

“Ivar!” you hiss and he stops, holding you up and looking at you questioningly. “Slower, please,” you beg and his face softens.

“Of course,” he says, and settles his back into his chair. He looks very pleased with himself, that you need to breathe and relax before you can let his girth fit into you. The slow slide of him filling you up is setting your whole body tingling. You had taken men to your bed a few times before, but it was never as exciting as this. When he is sheathed inside you fully, his arms wrap around your body and you both stop for a moment just to learn how to breathe again.

Then Ivar starts rocking his hips back and forth, and all you can do is throw back your head and moan. His hands slide down to your hips and he starts pulling you back and forth in his lap, somehow pressing himself even deeper with every thrust. “Oh, yes, moan for me y/n,” Ivar urges through clenched teeth, fucking you as hard as he can.

The fire inside you begs for more and you start adding your own strength, bouncing yourself on Ivar’s lap. He moans and then lets you take over, moving his hands to your waist and your breasts. His thumb slides down to work your clit and you see stars; thank the gods those slave girls have been teaching him something useful. You grab his head in both hands and press your forehead to his; Ivar’s bright blue eyes bore into yours as feel yourself about to slide over the edge. “Ivar, I—“ is all you manage to get out before your orgasm hits you and your entire body spasms. He keeps up his end of the rhythm as you ride it out, then he’s faltering too and he comes with a deep groan.

You remain locked like that for a few moments longer, heads resting against each other’s shoulders. You feel him shift, look at something across the room.

“Tomorrow night, we’re doing this again, in _that_ chair,” Ivar announces. You look up; he is pointing at Lagertha’s throne.


End file.
